


a daylighter and a shadowhunter walk into a library

by PeggyCanPegMe



Category: The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Daylighter Simon Lewis, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Jace Wayland Plays the Piano, M/M, Nerd Simon Lewis, Pansexual Jace Wayland, Pansexual Simon Lewis, Post-Book 1: City of Bones, Spoilers For Book 1: City of Bones, Vampire Simon Lewis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 05:15:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20129944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeggyCanPegMe/pseuds/PeggyCanPegMe
Summary: In which Jace is likened to a fine wine, and Simon the Daylighter exhibits a weakness for the Shadowhunter he used to detest. Plus Radiohead (no pun intended).





	a daylighter and a shadowhunter walk into a library

The hull of the ship splits open, splintering metal is bent backwards as the water bursts through. Simon is running. Running harder and faster than he’s ever run. Yet somehow, he’s moving slower than he ever has.

Sunlight.

Seagulls.

Sneakers slipping in blood.

The smell of woods, of leather, of cleanliness, of musk, of all good things.

The low rumbling feeling in his stomach that was previously reserved for Clary.

Bliss.

Teeth sinking into flesh.

The water picks up, it’s almost to Simon now. He tries to scream as it envelops him, but no sound comes out.

...

Simon cries out, and immediately falls off of the cushioned chair he was precariously perched on in the first place.

He misses it, deep in his bones – the quiet surrender of falling asleep. The small comfort of waking up and knowing your body is rested. Vampires technically do sleep, but since he turned he hasn’t had any real rest. He contents himself with little vampire naps throughout the day, never able to stay asleep longer than an hour or so.

He picks himself up and settles back into the chair. He curls up like a cat (or, in light of his new condition, like a bat?) and gets comfortable. Snoozing in the library is one of the few pleasures he has in his new life. He tries to shake off the weird dream by pulling a particularly cozy-looking quilt over himself.

These flashes plague him in his quiet moments – the shoes slipping, the water charging in. He’d call them nightmares if he wasn’t already a creature of the night. Figures that an actual vampire, fangs and all, would be afraid of some random boat.

What haunts him the most – more than any primal fear, more than the very real death he faced, more than the moment he thought he lost Clary forever – are the good flashes. For every terrifying snapshot, there are at least five instances of goodness.

He couldn’t figure it out at first. What possible thread of goodness could be found from Valentine’s self-indulgent, psycho Love Boat role play? He knew the flashes were real. He knew they were memories. But he refused to believe that the divine bliss he felt was at all related.

Until last week. In his daily quiet, not-quite-asleep moment between him sleeping and the shadowhunters waking, was an inescapable flash. Sunlight and that smell. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but the smell felt like comfort and excitement and calm and nervousness all wrapped up. He grew to love it, like a safety blanket tucked away in his memory.

But that smell – the beautiful, constant companion to his otherwise tragic new life turned on him. One afternoon at the Institute, he walked down a particularly long and pretentious corridor in search of a dark corner to avoid everyone.

Home was tricky, what with the Twilight-level secret he’d been carrying and his mother’s good natured albeit smothering mom-ness. The Institute made more sense – he could talk to Clary and avoid responsibility and read endlessly in the library. If he was lucky, Isabel would hang with him for a while. The downside, however, was the undeniable and ever-present threat that all shadowhunters are literally born and trained to kill his species (genus? Species? Maybe being an 18-year-old, immortal drop-out is a bad idea).

Halfway down the corridor, a door suddenly flew open to reveal none other than the Archduke of Brooding himself – Jace Wayland. The little shit burst out of the door and ran directly into Simon. So much for shadowhunter reflexes.

Jace looked like he saw a ghost – shocked and somehow guilty? He fled down the hallway with nothing more than a fleeting (though menacing) glance and muttered curses under his breath. He left as quickly as he appeared, but with his sudden departure was the remnant of him. The smell. The safety blanket memory that Simon couldn’t explain and didn’t want to was _ruined _because apparently it belonged to Jace.

The sunlight, the teeth, the feeling in his stomach – they were all related to Jace. Suddenly the smell was accompanied by the fractured memories of blond hair and leather and warmth. They barely talked about it – Jace saving Simon’s (after)life – but Simon knew what happened.

Jace offered his throat to Simon with little fanfare and a distinct sense of begrudging obligation. But it was Jace’s idea, and Simon was going to die. Again. And he wasn’t entirely sure he’d come back this time around. So, he drank. But it was unlike anything he had ever experienced in his former or current life. It was the best thing he had ever imbibed in memory. He felt the strength and vigor and will to survive ebb into him directly from the shadowhunter attached to his mouth. It was glorious, and sinful, and frankly, he tried to repress the memory. But the smell of Jace, the feel of leather under his hands, of a pulse under his tongue, refused to leave his brain.

Shit. Simon never should’ve walked down that corridor. Now he has memories and smells and _feelings _he never wanted or asked for. Memories and feelings of Jace – the man he despised at worst and withstood at best.

He hitches the quilt up higher and buries his face beneath. Maybe if he stays in the library forever he won’t have to deal with any of this. Or better! Maybe if he stays in the library he’ll fall asleep and wake up to find that the Valentine Boat of Doom never happened at all. Crazier things have happened.

He manages to doze off in the chair for a while, but wakes suddenly when he hears the door creak open. Footsteps follow. For evolutionary purposes, the vampire senses are excellent predator-deterrent. But for day to day purposes, he’d rather not hear every little thing thank you very much.

Simon’s in too deep and plays asleep in hopes that whomever the hell came in will get their books and leave. The movement is coming from the opposite door anyway, so they likely can’t see him in the chair by the fire. He hunkers down for the long haul and listens with eyes closed.

The footsteps grow louder then fade, as someone takes a seat. Oh right, there’s a piano in here. The keys are pressed so delicately, tenderly. A slow, wistful tune plays out, echoing across the mile of bookshelves. The acoustics really are stunning in here.

The song continues, building to a comfortable, steady pace. It feels effortless, like the pianist was built to play this, like this song is their first language. It’s undeniably delicious, being wrapped up by the fire and treated to such a lovely ballad.

He drifts back to sleep for who knows how long, letting the lullaby sweep him away. The smell memory envelops him, and for the first time in a week he lets it. A new/old memory swirls up from the ether. A single sound drowns out the piano. A whimper? A moan? Suddenly Simon is back there, in that shipping hold with Jace in his arms. Was this a memory, or was this Simon’s subconscious playing a cruel joke on him?

In his dream, he mouths at Jace’s neck and bites down. In his dream, Jace lets out a muted but certain moan beneath Simon’s tongue. Simon feels a gloved hand wrap around the back of his neck for a moment before retreating. That didn’t feel like a defense tactic…

A surge of adrenaline (he’s only calling it adrenaline and nothing else, he will not think about how tight his pants become) startles Simon fully awake, sobering him to his situation.

Simon has fought literal demons. He died and was buried and dug back up. He’s a literal freak of nature. None of those facts could or would ever prepare him for his reality now.

Simon is in the library, lulled to sleep by Jace freaking Wayland, and he now he has a hard-on.

Is he _into _Jace? Does he _like _Jace? Is it chemical? You drink a dude’s blood and all of a sudden you want to make out with them?

That can’t be true, because he’s consumed blood from several people now, and hasn’t particularly felt the need to jump _their_ bones.

Simon was in love with Clary for so long, he almost forgot how to like anyone else. Jace scared him at first – he was so aloof and self-assured and cool-looking. Jace was everything Simon felt he’d never be. He resented Jace for that. But maybe part of that resentment was attraction? Simon didn’t want to be Jace, but something about his untouchability shook Simon to his core upon their first meeting. Could it be that Simon wanted to be with Jace?

He remembered Eli from camp. Eli was toned from playing so much baseball, and so funny and well-liked. Simon was jealous of Eli from day one, until they were partnered for a wilderness excursion. The other kids went swimming in the lake while Eli and Simon walked around the woods nearby. Eli asked Simon who he had a crush on at camp, and Simon said (truthfully) “no one.”

Eli looked disappointed. They walked and talked and suddenly Simon wasn’t jealous of Eli, he was fond of him. Eli really was nice and funny, and Simon understood why everyone liked him. From then onward they were hiking buddies. On the last week of camp, just before sunset Eli seemed off. He seemed nervous, jittery even. By the time they reached the top of the hill Simon asked what was wrong.

Eli blushed and said, “I want to ask you something.”

“Sure, anything,” Simon replied.

Eli couldn’t maintain eye contact and kicked at some dirt with his shoes.

“Can I…would you…can I kiss you?”

Simon was surprised. He hadn’t thought of kissing a boy before. He was fond of Eli, and Eli was objectively very good looking. Looking at his face made Simon’s whole body feel too hot now. And the idea really didn’t seem like a bad one.

“Sure, Eli. I mean…yes please? Uh…”

Before either of them could blush anymore, they leaned into each other and shared a chaste, sweet kiss. But it was the last day of camp and they were all getting picked up in the morning and loaded into their respective family mini-vans. There was nothing more to be done. Just a sweet moment between two sweet boys.

Simon hadn’t thought about that in a while. Sometimes he’d think back to Eli and wonder how he turned out. In his lonelier moments he’d imagine what it would’ve been like to date Eli. If they had gone to the same high school, if they worked up the courage to tell their friends, their parents. If they went to prom together.

He had initially disliked Eli for pretty much no reason. He initially disliked Jace for silly reasons – his outfits, his confidence, his flirting with Clary. But Jace saved his life on more than one occasion. Jace made him laugh occasionally, and for better or worse, Jace had proven himself to be a loyal, brave, strong yet fragile person. Going to literal battle with someone changes your perspective of them.

“Do vampires _actually _sleep, or is that ruse to take advantage of innocent humans?”

Simon is yanked from his inner monologue as he realizes that yes, Jace really truly is acknowledging his presence.

“That’s species-ist. Vampires can sleep, I just find it difficult to sleep through the day. Inter-species time zones, you know?”

“So were you actually sleeping or eaves-dropping?”

“I was here first, so if anyone is spying slash stalking, it’s you, Radiohead.”

“What is that insult even supposed to mean?”

“Radio…because of the song…oh boy. You can play that gorgeous song with zero effort but you’ve never heard the anxious and delicate beauty of Thom Yorke?

“I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

“Well my very clever quip is lost on you, but Thom Yorke is the lead singer of Radiohead, a treasured and highly famous band known for the emo boy anthem, “Creep.” I was, in fact, calling you a creep. Very cleverly.”

“You think my song is ‘gorgeous’?” Jace air-quotes the word with a dubious flair.

“Well yeah, it’s a beautiful song. What’s it called?”

“I haven’t named it. I just kind of play what feels nice.”

“Wait, wait, wait. You really did come up with that out of the blue? You just pulled that beautiful ballad out of your brain and played it?”

“Contrary to your belief, my brain is indeed larger than a walnut. Only barely, but just.”

Was Jace…flirting? What was happening here? Simon’s very walnut-sized brain seized for a moment under the weight this new information. His stupid stomach did that thing again, that low, warm rumble. He tried to stop the moan from his dream-memory entering his head again.

Against his better judgement, he untucked himself from the chair and stood up, bones cracking. He began the trek across the room. With vampire speed it would take less than a second to get there, but Simon was taking his time – steeling himself with each step. Perhaps they could be friends? Would that be the most insane thing to happen? Perhaps Jace didn’t hate Simon after all. Simon surely was shocked to discover that he didn’t hate Jace.

“Can you play another?” Simon inquired sheepishly.

“Lucky for you I was going to anyway. Here, sit.” Jace gestured to the narrow piano bench he rested on.

Simon made his way over and sat next to Jace. They were eerily intimate, legs brushing one another’s with little space on the bench to spare. Jace resumed playing, this time a slightly faster, brighter piece. His hands spread and bent across the keys, fluttering along. Simon was transfixed by the image, remembering those hands on his shoulders – the fleeting dream-memory of that hand on his neck.

The song faded to a comfortable close, and Simon couldn’t help himself.

“Thank you. For saving my life. I mean thank you for playing that song for me too, that was truly beautiful and you’re very talented but thank you for saving my life, we don’t talk about it and I think we should it was pretty huge you know? I could’ve died AGAIN and that’s the last thing I would want and –“

“It’s fine it’s nothing. I did what anyone would’ve done. Two more seconds and you would’ve fed on me anyway out of desperation.”

“I would never! Even in my darkest moments, my most starved, weak moments, I have _never _hurt a loved one. I’d sooner hurt myself than someone else. Unless they’re evil. I’d hurt evil.”

Jace stared at Simon, full stop. He held his gaze and let the statement hang a moment.

“Am I a ‘loved one’? You said you’d never hurt a loved one.”

Simon struggled to catch his words. “I mean, you’re a liked one. I relatively, objectively like you as a person for saving me and Clary. And you’re a great brother and friend to Alec and Isabel and Max, and you fight for what you believe in. I admire that, begrudgingly.”

“Thanks?”

“You’re welcome. Thanks for saving my life.”

“Alright, we get it, I saved your life. Blah blah, get over it.” A smile began to form on his full lips.

Simon looked at Jace’s lips for what felt like a loooong time.

“I just can’t stop thinking about it, you know? The ship, the fear, how close we came to losing everything? And in all that, you still let me treat you like a Gatorade after a soccer game.”

“I think about it a lot too. At least your family isn’t involved in this. Imagine that.”

“Oh man, I hadn’t even considered that, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay, I’d rather not have more people pity me.”

“Do you…wanna talk about it?”

Jace pauses a moment, but scoffs. “I’m fine. You’re welcome I guess. For letting you treat me like a cheap wine.”

“Thanks,” said Simon. “For the record, if you’re a beverage you are definitely a fine wine.”

This takes Jace off guard and he actually huffs a laugh.

“Wow. Good to know. Though I think you’re the only vampire I have ever or will ever offer blood to willingly.”

Simon can’t help himself, he starts to laugh.

“What?” Jace half-smiles, but appears guarded again.

“No, nothing, I’m sorry! It’s just. We’re talking? Like actually talking? Like real people. It’s…it’s really nice actually.”

Jace’s face softens ever so slightly. If Simon was still human he probably would have missed it. This is one of the moments in which he’s actually so glad he’s not human.

“Well now that you’ve ruined the moment with self-awareness, I’ll play something else.”

Simon watches as Jace’s hands resume their fluttering across the keys. This song is especially delicate, kind even. Simon gets so lost in it that when it ends, Jace has to nudge him to open his eyes.

“I wasn’t asleep! It was just really lovely. You’re really very good, did you make that song up too?” Simon asked. He’s speaking too fast, he’s nervous. Why is he nervous?

“Yes. It’s a tune that popped in my head on our way back from the ship. It didn’t feel…appropriate to play after everything that happened but it stuck with me, so I expanded on it. You know, I’m pleasantly surprised. I don’t think I hate you, Simon.”

Simon blushed – coming from Jace that’s pretty much a shining endorsement. Without even thinking, Simon leaned in, smelling Jace. Before he can stop himself, he catches Jace’s eye.

“S…” Before Simon can apologize and pull back, Jace leans forward.

“You’re very peculiar. You know that?”

They lean in to each other’s orbit, Simon hasn’t felt this warm since he was human. Jace’s breath hitches as he gets closer. Their lips brush, experimentally at first. Testing the water. Simon remembers Eli for a moment. Jace deepens the kiss and Simon will never think about Eli again, Eli who? It’s like Simon never kissed another soul until this moment. Sparks burst behind his eyes.

Suddenly they’re making out. Tongues sweeping, breath stuttering. Hands begin to flail – Simon’s hands slide up Jace’s thighs. Jace’s hand curls around the back of Simon’s neck – approvingly, possessively. Maybe it wasn’t all a dream after all.

They go on like this for a while, breaking free after what feels like somewhere between a second and a lifetime.

“That was unexpected,” sighs Jace as he pushes his hair behind his ears.

“I didn’t hate it,” Simon tries.

“For being an actual blood-sucking vampire, you’re very meek.” The same half smile quirks Jace’s lips. Simon could get used to that flirty teasing.

Simon smells Jace, feels his radiating warmth, and once again finds the confidence to lean forward, closing the space between them.

The kiss is deeper now, hungrier. Simon grips Jace’s hips and starts to stand up – Jace following. Their mouths never part as they cross the room, bumping the now neglected chair and finding purchase on the couch adjacent to it.

Jace takes the opportunity to pivot, edging Simon closer to the couch until his legs find it and fall backward. Simon lays flat while Jace follows, kissing all the way. Jace’s weight is a comfortable pressure on Simon. He reaches up and curls a hand through Jace’s hair, pulling him even closer. Jace adjusts to straddle Simon, knees on either side of Simon’s hips. Simon thinks he might die all over again when Jace _moves_.

He rocks against Simon with even pressure, feeling everything between them, literally and figuratively. Simon lets out a whine, rising up to meet Jace’s movements. Jace breaks their kiss and Simon almost cries out in upset before he realizes that Jace is taking off his shirt.

Oh. Okay. That works.

Simon lifts awkwardly to remove his own. Jace huffs another laugh and helps Simon remove his. Now they’re kissing again, skin on glorious skin, rocking against each other to a rhythm Jace is crafting. If the band ever needed a bassist, Simon knows where to look. Jace could keep time with Simon until Simon dies again.

They rock together for approximately the 80th time, and it becomes abundantly clear that there is entirely too much fabric involved. This time their kiss breaks and they pause. Simon looks deeply into Jace’s eyes. Is this a weird fluke? A cruel prank? Does he really want this?

The hunger and tenderness behind Jace’s eyes assure Simon that this is it.

“Can we…?” pants Simon.

“Take our pants off? _Yes_,” Jace practically sighs in relief.

Jace makes quick work of both of their belts. He pulls away and begins to stand – Simon’s hands reach out of their own volition.

Jace fully smiles this time. “I’m not going anywhere, patience is a virtue.”

He then slides his jeans off and WOW Jace is in his underwear and smiling at Simon and what is HAPPENING and of _course _he wears perfect fit black boxer briefs of course. He returns to his rightful throne (straddling Simon) and scoots down to get at his pants button.

“May I” Jace barely finishes speaking before Simon –

“YES” Simon all but shouts.

And Jace Wayland is peeling off Simon’s jeans and how did we get here it doesn’t matter this is the best day of Simon’s life (living and afterlife included). Why don’t newly minted vampires get a special welcome kit with real proper clothes? Because brooding vampire Simon is still wearing nerdy human Simon’s underwear, and Jace chuckles goodnaturedly at the orange and pink striped boxer briefs revealed.

“Please don’t judge, I…” Simon is cut off by another deep kiss.

Jace pulls back for a second just to say, “It doesn’t matter,” and he’s leaning back in and they’re making out again and now it’s becoming apparent how little fabric is between them and thank you know who for the vampire strength, because human Simon would’ve come then and there.

Jace’s hand brushes Simon’s striped, much less sexy in comparison undies and his back arches instantly. That’s all Simon needs before he’s in full, strong, possessive vampire mode. Simon’s hands grip Jace’s perfect ass and flips them both over. They both keel at the angle change.

Simon turns and sucks at Jace’s neck – no fangs, just lips and tongue (and maybe a little normal, un-fanged teeth). There it is – Jace lets out a whine/moan better than any ship memory Simon could muster and he knows it’s all real. He and Jace have been meant for this for sometime. He didn’t dream their chemistry and Jace is just as into him. Who knew?

Simon pushes Jace’s waistband down and Jace moans again, bracing himself with hands on Simon’s shoulders. Simon reaches down and grazes Jace’s length, wrapping his hand in a firm but relaxed grip. He starts on a rhythm and Jace follows – arching up with every stroke. Jace palms Simon’s aching dick, and Simon arches back in pleasure.

Jace frees Simon from his questionable underwear and they go on like that, stroking each other smoothly, lovingly, until their rhythm goes staccato. Simon strokes faster – he wants to see Jace come before he does – and he succeeds. Jace’s eyes squeeze shut as he arches and wails, losing his grip on Simon as he comes between them.

It’s the most beautiful thing Simon’s ever seen, and before Jace can catch his breath they’re kissing again. Jace’s hand returns to Simon and before long Simon is arching and repeating Jace’s name like a prayer. They kiss lazily for a while, quiet and content.

Simon rests his head on Jace’s shoulder, still resting on top of him.

“Surely there is some sort of rune to clean this up. Someone in Idris must have had the wherewithal,” Simon jokes.

Jace actually chortles! Simon could get used to this.

“There’s a bathroom tucked away behind that portrait.”

“What? Like Harry Potter? Holy crap!”

Jace looks incredulously at Simon, “sure, like Harry Potter.”

They climb off of the couch (and each other) and cross the library once again, hand in hand as Jace leads. The secret passageway bathroom is rather nice, but relatively small considering the rest of the luxuries in the Institute. Jace makes quick but gentle work of cleaning them both up. Once they’re relatively tidy, they kiss again – Simon leaning against the sink and their tongues find each other yet again. They could go on like that forever.

“C’mon, I’m actually sleepy for once,” Simon whispers as he leads Jace back to The Couch That Will Never Be Just a Couch Again.

They resume their position, with Jace on his back and Simon face down, head on Jace’s chest. They sleep like that for hours, and Simon wakes feeling more rested than he’s ever felt in both of his lives put together.

Jace comes to shortly after, looks down at Simon and smiles.

“What were we thinking?”

“Good question,” Simon says. He’s prepared to back pedal, to bury this memory, to forget it ever happened if that’s what Jace wants.

“I think,” Jace says slyly, “I think I’d like to do that again.”

Simon laughs, relieved, “Only if you play me piano again first.”

“That can be arranged – perhaps you need formal, daily piano lessons.”

“I think, I really, really do.”

They smile warmly at each other. Simon knows they’ll face reality someday – he’s a vampire and Jace is shadowhunter for you know who’s sake – but for now they’re flirty and happy and sweet together. And that, for once, is enough.


End file.
